


The Ghost and the Mask

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Ghosts, Lieutenant Duckling, a masquerade, and a lil angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: Emma was tired of the boring, dutiful life of a princess. She longed for an adventure–something to break up the monotony of life at court, something with a little intrigue and possibly even a bit of romance–perhaps that was why the notion of sneaking away from the palace to attend a masquerade was so appealing. Little did she realize that a dance with a ghost would lead her on a quest for vengeance over the man she would come to love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> there is gorgeous art associated with this piece by fairytalesandtimetravel. i'm still screaming, i love how it turned out. come to my tumblr @this-too-too-sullied-flesh and say hello!

Lady Ruby regarded Emma with a solemn expression, but Emma could still see the devilish twinkle in her friend’s eye. Deciding to ignore Ruby’s obvious attempt to elicit questions from her, Emma instead called upon years and years of lessons in comportment and her mother’s ever-present voice in her head counseling patience as the best form of diplomacy; she folded her hands in her lap and fixed her countenance in the most bland expression she could summon. Because Ruby had been a friend since they were young girls, Emma tilted her head to the side, her only concession to curiosity, though inside she impatiently waited for whatever outrageous thing her old friend would say next.

Lady Ruby narrowed her eyes slightly, but she must have remembered that great friend or no, Emma was still the princess, so she sighed heavily and smiled.

“A ghost.”

Emma lifted one brow but otherwise maintained her composure. Inside, she felt a tingle of excitement. A ghost! In Lady Ruby’s ancestral home!

“He has the Lucas light eyes and dark hair; probably some long-lost ancestor doomed to haunt the halls with a forlorn expression on his handsome face.”

“Oh, Ruby. You _would_ think a ghost handsome.”

“So you believe me, then?”

“I said no such thing.”

“But you’re coming to my masquerade ball.”

It was clear from Ruby’s tone that she would brook no opposition, but Emma hesitated. She hated going to functions where members of the nobility would be in attendance; not because she did not enjoy herself, but because she was always surrounded by a retinue of lady’s maids and the royal guard with never a moment alone. She was not permitted to simply be herself; as heiress to the entire kingdom of Misthaven, she constantly had to be on her guard.

But a masquerade! No one would know it was her, especially if she could manage to attend without the usual hangers-on; the princess without a suffocating gaggle of people about her was simply unheard of. None would suspect her true identity. Delicious curls of anticipation began to unfurl low in her belly.

“Of course I am,” Emma said, grinning as she covered her friend’s hand with her own. Then her expression turned somewhat serious as she added, “but you mustn’t tell a soul.”

Ruby’s eyebrow shot up as a wry smile tugged at her generous lips. “A soul? I shall only tell the ghost, then.”

“I’m quite serious, Ruby. The point of a masque is to hide one’s identity; this is my chance to blend in, to see what it’s like when people aren’t bowing and scraping before me.”

“You mean you wish to know whether men will still fall prostrate before you, begging for your hand or a kiss.”

“Hardly,” Emma scoffed, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “Although I suppose that would be nice, as well.”

“I’ve invited several officers, you know.” Emma gave in on the urge to roll her eyes at her friend’s consistent nature--always one to pine after officers! Ruby sighed with exaggeration, slumping slightly as she said in a dreamy voice, “I do _so_ love a man in uniform. The broad shoulders. The unrelentingly tight breeches.”

“Ruby!” Emma mock-gasped, flipping her fan open and waving it at herself with exaggeration. “I am shocked at such words pouring from your lips.”

“You’d be more shocked if you knew what I’d been up to lately,” Ruby replied, her mouth lifting in a sly smile.

“Do tell,” the princess murmured, leaning forward to hear her friend’s latest shocking adventure. As she genuinely gasped and wriggled in response to Lady Ruby’s lurid accounting of her dalliance with a tinker’s son, a faint thrum began deep in her chest. A masquerade! In Lucas Manor, where ghosts roamed freely! And Emma, too, would roam freely, disguised and delighted, with none the wiser that a princess danced in their midst.

* * *

“I’m going all by myself.”

“Your highness!” gasped her lady’s maid, shocked. “You mustn’t!”

“Elsa,” Emma laughed. “I’m going. That’s all there is to it.” She turned and struck a pose, her chin above her shoulder as she regarded her figure in the mirror. “Can you lower the neckline a bit, do you think?”

Elsa ignored the request in favor of another lecture. “The crown princess _cannot_ go to a masque unattended, it simply isn’t done!”

“And yet.” Emma straightened, her eyes gleaming as she looked at Elsa’s reflection in her vanity mirror. She waited until her maid met her gaze and affected a pout. “You aren’t going to tell Mother, are you?”

Elsa’s shoulders straightened and a belligerent look took over her face. “It offends me that you’d think I’d do such a thing, highness.”

“So you’ll help, then? I’ll need a mask.”

Elsa sighed deeply, looking much put-upon, but when her eyes again met those of her princess, there was a mischievous glint in their crystal-clear blue.

“If I have to mix the glue myself, so be it.”

Two weeks’ hence found Emma feigning a cough during breakfast. She begged off her duties for the day, feeling only a slight twinge at the deception when both Mother and Father shared looks of concern. The crown princess _never_ shirked her duties. By the time dinner was served, her wan appearance and hot forehead (thanks to a warm compress, courtesy of Elsa) had the queen and king insisting on calling the doctor.

“No, no,” Emma rushed out, only remembering at the last second to sound as hoarse as possible. “Some tea and a good night’s rest, and I shall be fine come morning.”

“It’s a good thing you decided not to go to Lady Ruby’s masque, then,” commented her father, the king. “I’d hate for you to be disappointed that you could not attend.”

“Quite,” Emma coughed, sipping her chocolate and attempting not to smile.

With skepticism, the royal couple allowed Emma exactly one night to feel better, warning that should her condition not improve come morning, the Royal Physician would be summoned at once.

It took all of her training in acting the lady to keep Emma from running from the table; a rare feeling of freedom surged within her. Tonight! She would attend a ball--a masquerade!--tonight, and she would simply be one of many, an unknown girl dancing the night away, no pressure to be perfect, no ceremonies to perform, no dignitaries to impress. No; tonight, she would simply be…

“Leia,” proclaimed Elsa, straightening the glimmering white skirts at Emma’s feet before standing. “Tonight, you shall be Leia.”

“Why Leia?” Emma wondered, turning to the side. She did not attempt to conceal the wide smile lifting the corners of her mouth. The dress was perfect, one she’d never had the occasion to wear. The Princess never dared to reveal so much décolletage; why, the mole at the side of one breast was right there on view!

“The princess I served before you was named Leia. Tough but fair, regal to a fault. Argumentative but persuasive. Excellent hair. It suits you.” Elsa approached Emma with an uncharacteristically wide smile, her hands behind her back. “Besides. You need a graceful, new name to match your costume.” With a flourish, Elsa brought her hands forward, presenting a delicate and feathered mask, her grin still in place.

“Oh. It’s _perfect_. Elsa, thank you!” Emma exclaimed, new excitement rushing through her breast. She took the mask and turned, holding it to her face and waiting patiently while her lady’s maid moved behind her. She felt the ribbons tickle at her ears and the slight pull on her hair as Elsa tied the mask in place. Then she waited _im_ patiently for the moment Elsa proclaimed that she was all done.

Emma turned and held her breath; she looked wonderful.

“Oh, Elsa,” she managed to say, turning so that the light caught some of the exquisite beadwork on her dress. “You did a fantastic job.”

“You are no longer Emma, Crown Princess of Misthaven. I pronounce you Leia, the swan lady.”

“Leia the Swan,” Emma murmured.

“Time to take flight, your highness,” Elsa smiled, wrapping a cloak about Emma’s shoulders.

It was time to go.

Sneaking off to a waiting carriage bearing no coat of arms was much easier than Emma would have thought. Truly, her lady’s maid was a wonder; she had even arranged for Emma to be returned by dawn, just enough time to get her back to the palace before anyone noticed she was missing. “But be back at the carriage before the clock strikes two, or we’re both in for it,” Elsa had warned. Impulsively, Emma had leaned forward and taken Elsa’s hands in hers, pressing a kiss to the knuckles and flustering her maid to no end.

The trip took a little over two hours; the entire time Emma tried her best to keep from fidgeting, constantly reaching for the feathered mask covering half of her face and smiling. _Tonight, none shall know me_ , she kept repeating to herself, then, with a smile, _except, perhaps Ruby._

Lucas Manor was the seat of the house of Lucas. It sat stately and ancient, built hundreds of years before and presided over by the current Duchess in her own right, Ruby’s grandmother, who refused to leave the old pile for anything or anyone. The Duchess was well-known throughout the kingdom as an opinionated and strong woman, as much sought for her sound counsel as her excellent table. Even Emma’s own mother demurred to the lady’s advice, and it was often said that the battle for Snow White’s throne would not have been won without that grand lady at her side.

Emma had visited the ancient stone mansion once or twice but never at night, Ruby preferring to live in the family’s newer residence built near the royal palace. The few times the Queen had visited with the Duchess with Emma accompanying had been short day trips; as she approached the somewhat intimidating structure of Lucas Manor in the full cloak of dark, Emma’s sense of the dramatic rose. Whispers of the ghost Ruby had teased her about floated through her mind.

She wondered whether she would see any ghosts tonight.

But then all thoughts of the otherworldly left her head when the carriage finally made its way through the queue and the door was opened. A footman reached for her hand, drawing her from the carriage and bowing politely. No low, formal bow, no obsequious looks or murmurs of “your royal highness.” Simply a servant doing his job, never knowing whose hand he held.

Emma’s sense of anticipation rose. _He does not know me!_ she thought with glee. Surely, if the ever-observant servants did not recognize their princess, then none of the invited guests would, either.

Since it was a masquerade, there was no receiving line, no announcement for each of the costumed attendees. Emma simply walked into the foyer with the others, marveling at the change wrought by the setting of the sun. What seemed like a thousand candles gave the large entrance a golden glow; the areas beyond seemed forbidding; dark and unapproachable. The double grand staircases were festooned with dark blue swaths of velvet and there were white magnolias everywhere. The noise of hundreds of people just beyond the curtains added to Emma’s feelings of anticipation. She could detect a faint simmering low in her belly, pleasant anxiety for the unknown heightening all of her senses.

“Beauty and grace,” came a low, muffled voice over Emma’s shoulder. She turned to find a man just behind her, a full domino covering his face. “Care to dance, lovely little bird?”

Emma grinned in response, dipping her head in a brief curtsey but saying little else; she felt no curiosity at his identity, and no annoyance at discovering he was imagining himself wearing a prince’s crown by having her on his arm. No, this man simply whisked her away through the curtains and toward the large ballroom where a raucous crowd was already enjoying themselves, dark masks and glittery dresses and outrageously embroidered waistcoats everywhere. Emma laughed when the man caught her by the waist and swung her in a wide circle before joining the set, clapping and laughing with delight when he nearly collided with the man next to him. She rarely allowed herself such freedom when laughing; no, it was hardly lady-like to be so unrestrained.

Her parents did not expect her to behave like a prim and proper lady; that would have been laughable, considering Queen Snow White herself had once lived in a forest and committed acts of theft to survive. That had been before Emma’s time, however, and now in a time of peace, the kingdom had settled down, the uncertainty of the Evil Queen’s reign long over. Emma was not the perfect and proper princess, but she had been taught from an early age the importance of her station in life, and that one day, all would look to her lead. It was a notion that weighed heavy on her head, and she often wished that it were not so.

Tonight, however, as she danced and danced and danced, her laughter liberal and her smiles joyfully given, Emma realized that her duty to her parents and her kingdom was something that was inescapable. Tonight, she would make the most of her temporary, self-administered reprieve.

Never had she felt so free. Never had she ignored what she was always told she must be: the princess, the example by which all followed, and the one who must always remember that it was her duty to keep the kingdom safe.

Well, she was no savior now. Tonight, she was simply a girl in a beautiful dress who was having a _marvelous_ time.

It did not take long for Ruby to find her. Some time after her fourth dance, Emma had begged her recent partner off in favor of searching for refreshment. He’d offered to pour her a glass of punch but she’d laughed slyly, dancing out of his grabbing hands and ensuring him that if she wished it, she’d find him again. Most of the men she had danced with thus far had begged for her name, but she had managed to smile demurely--perhaps even seductively--thwarting their advances and dancing away before their hands could wander any further.

After laughing at the man’s drunken attempt to lift her mask once she had refused to tell him her name, she’d walked herself to the punch bowl--unaccompanied!-- and filled a glass for herself. It occurred to her that she’d always had someone doing that for her, for ladies did not lift a finger for themselves, did they? Carefully, she lifted the very strong punch (no doubt spiked with brandy or, if Ruby had anything to do with it, bourbon) to her lips, sipping so as not to overdo it. As she looked about her, she noticed that people were becoming looser with their attentions and affections as the night wore on, as if by hiding their faces, they could be whomever they wished. Emma wondered whether she ought to consider being as loose with her attentions, then laughed silently, her entire chest shaking with mirth at the very thought.

“I’ve never seen so much of your bosom on display, and never so delightfully _jiggly_ ,” came a smiling voice from behind her, and Emma turned, nearly spilling her punch on her beautiful white dress.

“Ru-, er,” Emma stuttered, not certain that her friend wished to have her identity revealed. “You’re looking well.” Ruby was wearing a deep red dress cut scandalously low. She had a lovely and intricately sewn black lace mask that seemed to be magically affixed to her face without the benefit of any ribbon or other ties.

“Oh, you may refer to me as ‘Ruby.’ Everyone knows it is I, worry not. I can hardly hide this,” she said, pointing to her generous and well-known red-lipped smile, “or these.” She indicated her décolleté, making Emma flush and shake her head. “Instant identifiers, you know. But what am I to call you tonight?”

“Leia,” Emma said, dipping into a brief curtsy and laughing.

“Hmm. It suits you well. Sounds royal, but not too royal,” Ruby decided, echoing Elsa’s sentiments exactly. She reached out and ran a finger down the nose of Emma’s mask, looking into Emma’s eyes and smirking. “I should steal Elsa from you, her work is _exquisite_.”

“Treason is punishable by death, Ruby.”

“Ah, but tonight, you’re hardly the princess, so no treason can be committed. What’s the punishment for defying parental orders?”

“They never said I _couldn’t_ come unattended,” Emma said reasonably, taking another deep sip of her punch and noticing with surprise that she had finished it. Reaching to refill her cup and ignoring her maid’s voice in her head advising caution, she smiled at the amused expression on her friend’s face.

“Somehow, I don’t think they’ll look upon your reasoning with favor. Oh! Another officer. I like this one, his shoulders are so very broad. Good for gripping when in the throes, you know,” Ruby whispered, winking before turning to take the hand of a very tall and, indeed, broad man. He smiled big and wide at Ruby before whisking her away, and the last thing Emma saw of her friend was a shocking flash of leg as her red dress lifted as her officer twirled her onto the dance floor.

“Quite a spectacle,” came a new voice next to her. Emma turned, regarding the newcomer. He was wearing a simple black mask over his eyes and nose, the only concession to the masquerade. His clothes were well-tailored, impeccable but plain, no real ornamentation save for the gold piping on his frock coat. He had a bit of an accent, one that indicated he was not from the capital. Wholly unremarkable--but there was something about him, and Emma found herself intrigued.

He seemed a bit out of place and she could not immediately figure out why; perhaps it was that he stood apart from the others with a set of insolence to his shoulders, or perhaps it was that he was not dressed as ostentatiously as everyone else present. Perhaps it was the unfashionable shadow that ran along his jaw, a style that had gone out at least a century before, if not two. Perhaps that was why he seemed to stand out to Emma--she was quite certain she would remember a tall, dark-haired man who was not clean-shaven and who stood with such louche arrogance. Her father’s voice in her head screamed _rake_ ; her own voice murmured _yes_ with approval.

Since she did not know the man, Emma decided to err on the side of caution. “Sometimes a spectacle is just the thing we need to appreciate the more mundane things in life.”

He looked at her then out at the dancers before settling back on her face. His eyes flitted down her body, taking in her dress and the cup in her hand.

“Somehow, milady, I think you are anything but mundane.”

“Oh? Are you some sort of seer, then?”

“All I see before me is a lovely swan with no dance partner.”

“A thing easily remedied. Will you do me the honor?” _So much for caution_. She held out her hand and looked at him expectantly, suppressing the grin threatening to overtake her face.

The stranger seemed thrown by that, gaping a moment before giving a broad grin of his own. And that’s when Emma noticed how terribly handsome he was, mask or no. His eyes, though shadowed by the black fabric, sparkled--she could not tell their exact color, but she felt they must be blue like the sea, for all that she was ready to drown in them.

 _I must be going mad, inviting a man to dance!_ she thought to herself, but then her handsome rake was holding out his arm and she was taking it, despite the fact that the current set was nearly over.

He led her toward the fringes of the dancing, not seeming inclined to put himself in the thick of things, which suited Emma just fine. The entire party seemed to be getting a bit too boisterous and loud, and while it was all very exciting, Emma had no wish to become lost in the revelry. She could feel the strong punch coursing through her veins, and while she felt warmed by it, she also felt that perhaps she ought to take care with her actions. The strains of a waltz began, and it took all of Emma’s lessons in correct posture running through her mind to keep from swaying when the handsome stranger took her in his arms. She rested one hand on his right shoulder and placed the other against his left palm, wishing they were both ungloved so that she might feel the warmth of his touch. She clasped his hand, winding her fingers through his--an intimate maneuver, but Ruby’s bourbon-punch was making her bold. That seemed to throw him as well; he looked at her hard before his eyes darted to their adjoined hands and back again as quickly.

“You may call me Leia,” she murmured, wishing to know his name, the deception tasting bitter on her tongue. After a moment of hesitation, he murmured right back.

“Charles. A pleasure to meet such a beautiful swan, Leia.” She knew she did not mistake his emphasis on the word “pleasure.”

And then the waltz began, and Emma forgot to respond.

Usually, when Emma danced with a man, there was a certain amount of pomp involved. Her partner always seemed very conscious of with whom he danced, careful not to step on her toes, cautious and correct in his manner and his banter.

Charles had no intention of executing correct bearing and conversational etiquette.

“So, lass. Why a swan? All the swans I’ve known have been harsh, unrelenting creatures. Are you so vicious a bird as well?”

“Oh, I’m dreadful,” she said, leaning in and smiling. She did not miss the way he caught his breath as she tilted her face toward his, her lips so very near the stubble on his chin. “Do not be fooled by this white dress. I attack without warning.”

“I’ve no doubt,” he said with approval and a hint of a rasp in his voice, his eyes darting down to fix on her lips. “But I think getting pecked by you might be quite the experience, and well worth the pain.”

Never had a man been so bold with her before. She found she quite liked it.

At the same time, the parts of her that insisted no gentleman spoke in such a way to a lady heeded more caution, but she ignored them. Something about Charles seemed genuine, if not a little devil-may-care, and besides. What was a little harmless flirting between strangers?

“Pain, Charles? I’m certain you’d find it a _pleasure_.”

In that moment, she was certain that his eyes were black for the way they looked at her with such dark purpose.

“The _pleasure_ would definitely be all mine,” he returned, a smirk flashing on his lips. Then, “I must say, the pleasure now is in dancing. I’m usually quite mediocre, but we seem to be doing quite well here.”

“All you need is the right partner, Charles.”

“I think I’ve found her, Leia,” he said softly.

It should not have bothered her, his calling her the wrong name. She tried to tamp down the disappointment but came up short.

“But this is quite the crowd, my lady. Or is it my lady? Are you Lady Leia? Or _Mrs_. Lady Leia?” he asked, his smile seeming forced as he awaited her answer. Emma did not feign ignorance; she knew what he was asking, and while it irked somewhat--for was she not simply there to have a good time? To dance without the burden of being courted?--she was also secretly pleased, quite certain now that he did not know her identity.

“I am not Lady Leia,” she smiled, glad it was the truth. He relaxed visibly at that, smiling so brightly that she was briefly lost in the beauty of him.

“Excellent. I find that I’m quite at odds with myself in this crowd. Not used to rubbing elbows with the posh and titled, you know.”

“They are quite full of themselves, are they not?” she said, still smiling. So Charles was not a nobleman. She was rather glad of it.

Charles reached out, his hand brushing the side of her face.

“You’ve lost a feather,” he said softly, his hand coming away with a piece of her mask pinched between two fingers. Before she could reach for it he’d slipped it into his pocket, and she could not help the broad grin that overtook her face.

Before she knew it, the waltz was over, and she was unwilling to let go Charles’s hand. She gave it a squeeze, wishing to give him a sign that she had quite enjoyed the dance. Then a minuet was called, and she found herself being whisked off again, her hands in both of Charles’ and laughter on both of their lips.

Like with their waltz he kept to the edges of the dancing, still not seeming inclined to join the general fray. Emma was still quite satisfied with that arrangement; she was content on keeping him to herself, though they had occasion to cross the paths of other couples on the ballroom floor. The entire time he continued flirting, at times keeping it light and occasionally crossing the lines of polite conversation, but it was never too much, never too overt. Whenever the movements of the dance brought them closer to one another, Emma felt warmer, longing to keep him near and despairing when the required steps took him away again. And oh, when he was near! She felt an inexorable thrill whenever they had occasion to touch. Indeed, even when their hands parted company, his fingers lingering against hers, drawing away from her slowly, and Emma could still felt his caress in the way he looked at her. Even behind his mask, she could feel the pull in his gaze, her own eyes roaming over the smooth lines of his coat, the unforgiving cut of his breeches, the sharp angles of his face, and the soft, sensual curve of his smile. Emma found herself becoming increasingly intrigued by this stranger, this extraordinarily handsome man--she wished to know where he lived, and whether she would see him again. Perhaps even his last name.

Before she could venture to ask, their second dance was over. Disappointment filled her as he led her back to the punch bowl where they’d originally met. In regular society, three dances were tantamount to an engagement announcement, but on a night when none knew the identities of their partners or the others present, Emma felt like a third dance would be perfectly harmless.

“Em--Leia!” Ruby gasp-laughed, bounding over and nearly colliding with Emma as she stumbled to a stop. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you, I thought you’d left!”

“No, I was dancing with--” Emma began, turning to introduce Ruby to her new friend.

But when she turned, he had gone.

In vain, she searched for him the rest of the night--for one flash of his grin, for a glimpse of the jaw that looked as if it were carved from marble. To her disappointment, Charles had vanished without so much as a good-bye. And she worried that she was already quite infatuated with him.

The following morning found Emma abed. She had barely made it back in time before her mother came bustling into her room, pressing the back of her hand to Emma’s forehead. Elsa seemed terrified, hiding behind a dressing screen, the beautiful, white gown clutched in her hands as the queen worried at the side of Emma’s bed. The royal physician had been summoned, and he’d proclaimed that the princess, to the puzzlement of both her parents, seemed to be suffering from exhaustion. She had been ordered to spend the rest of the week in bed, much to her own protests, but the queen had declared it would be so ordered. There had even been discussions of leavening Emma’s duties, but with a blush, Emma had insisted that it was unnecessary.

For it wouldn’t be happening again. Her escape from the palace and her dance with a wonderful stranger would be a one-time thing.

Ruby came by that afternoon, looking none-the-worse-for-wear in a more demure (though still far more daring than Emma’s sensibilities allowed by the light of day) red dress and carrying a black mask in a satchel.

“For the memories,” she said as she placed the mask on Emma’s counterpane with a sly smile. “I found it in one of the washrooms next to a solitary stocking, so I know at least one couple made some excellent memories. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“Hardly.” Though Emma wondered--had Charles not simply vanished into thin air, could it have been so? The very idea had her blushing, but her friend did not seem to notice.

“No, you’re nothing like me, sadly.” Ruby waited a few moments before unleashing her smirk. “So, my swan princess, my lady Leia. How was it?”

“Marvelous,” Emma sighed, flopping back onto her pillows. She lifted the plain black mask to her face and smiled, well aware she looked like an enamored girl and not caring one bit. “I danced with so many strangers, Ruby. None ever realized I was the princess.”

“Handsome strangers?” Ruby hedged, scooting her chair closer to lean her elbows on the mattress.

“Well, there was one…”

“Ha, I knew it! What was his name? I can arrange to have him come over during my calling hours, and you can be there as well. We can see what he’s like in the daylight.”

“Charles,” Emma responded immediately, his name practically bursting from her lips. She had not realized it until that moment, but she was dying to speak of him to another person.

“Charles.” Ruby frowned, her eyes drifting to the ceiling and then back to Emma’s face. “I did not invite any Charleses. What did he look like?”

“He had a mask on, Ruby,” Emma laughed. She conjured a picture of him in her head and smiled at the memory. “Dark hair. His eyes were blue, I think. Handsome. Tall.”

“Military bearing?”

“No, he had an arrogant set to his shoulders.”

“Good. That would sound too close to my future conquest, and I shouldn’t wish to fight the future queen for the attentions of a handsome and tall navy man with blue eyes. Hmm. Did he have a large mole on his neck?”

“No.”

“Curly hair?”

“No. Thick and straight, and a bit unruly.”

“Hmm.” Ruby thought a moment, opening her mouth several times but not continuing.

“Ruby. Spit it out.”

“Emma. I know the identity of everyone at that party. There was no one named Charles.”

“Oh.” Emma frowned before continuing. “Well, I was not using my real name. Perhaps he--”

“Oh,” Ruby breathed, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps you danced with the Lucas ghost! I told you he was handsome. Granny says he’s a nephew of the first Duchess, died tragically in a sailing accident on his way home to his mistress. Perhaps you were making love with my great-great-great-great-great uncle!”

“Ruby,” Emma tried, stifling a smile, but her friend was already lost in laughter.

Eventually, once Ruby’s teasing about Emma being in love with a supernatural being had faded, they had turned to other topics--like the handsome naval Captain Ruby had danced with not once, not twice, but three times, and how she was disappointed he had to quit the masque early due to leaving on assignment that very morning--but Charles remained on Emma’s mind for the rest of the day.

In fact, he remained on her mind for the following year. It did not take much for her to decide she needed to see him again.

Ruby’s first masquerade had been so successful that she easily decided to hold it again, so it was with no little trepidation that Emma returned to Lucas Manor, the same dress and mask she’d worn the first time in place. Elsa was only slightly less hesitant in aiding her princess in deceiving the queen and king once more. Emma told herself she would need to identify her handsome stranger soon; one more year of mysteriously falling ill the night of Lady Ruby’s masquerade might raise suspicion with the royal couple.

When she spotted Charles across the room, she smiled, wondering if he was wearing the exact same “costume” for the same reason as she--so they’d each remember each other on sight.

“My lady swan.”

He approached her with an intense look in his eyes--blue, they were definitely blue--and held out his hand, not saying a word as he led her to the dance floor. Again, he watched carefully as she put her hand in his, and again he kept her at the fringes of the ballroom. And again and again he twirled her about, saying outlandish things and making a worrisome flutter start deep in her heart.

And again, he left before she could ask him where he lived.

The following year was different, however, this time Emma staying the entire week at Lucas Manor, no longer caring if she was was surrounded by guards with everyone knowing who she was; after two years of wondering, she simply wished to know the identity of her handsome dance partner, even if it meant he found out she was the crown princess.

The trouble was, he did not show. Ruby’s Captain was not present, either--in fact, the overall presence of officers was quite thin due to the need to keep the kingdom’s interests and borders safe from whispers of invasion. So, the princess and the hostess of the party were both in a mood, each pining over the absence of their young men.

As Ruby lamented the decisions of _certain_ people’s parents on strict military presence taking handsome men away from her, Emma began to wonder if Charles really _was_ a ghost.

The day after the third masquerade, Emma and her entourage were the only guests left on the entire estate; most were far too tired from a night of revelry to be up before noon, but Emma was restless. She went down to breakfast, unsurprised when the Duchess was the only one awake and quite surprised that Ruby made an appearance just as her grandmother was finishing her tomatoes and ham.

“Time to show the princess your heritage, girl,” the Duchess said gruffly. She bowled over her granddaughter’s protests with, “If you’d gone to bed at a decent hour, you’d be fresh as a daisy. But you’re the hostess, and there is a princess in your midst; you _will_ show her around.” It amused Emma that the only person to whom Ruby ever listened was her cantankerous and imposing Granny, but when Ruby kissed her grandmother’s temple and the old woman swatted her away, she did not miss the gleam of affection in both women’s eyes.

Emma rushed to keep up with the surprisingly brisk pace of the Duchess Lucas, following her through winding and often narrow passages until they stood at the beginning of a long, wide hallway adorned with intricately carved ceilings and row upon row of elaborately framed portraits.

“The third Duchess, my great-great-grandmother. Rumored to have eaten her first suitor.”

“That’s where I get it from,” Ruby whispered, but her grandmother heard it.

“Girl, you keep your filth out of the princess’s ear!”

“Yes, Granny,” Ruby simpered dutifully, then, “I’ll just serve it up for your eyeballs to feast upon.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and Emma laughed, stifling her chuckles with the back of her hand at a hard look from the Duchess.

“Oh!” Ruby gasped as they came to a portrait, and Emma nearly did a double-take. “Your ghost!” She stopped short, reaching out to clasp Emma’s arm. “Granny, do tell her highness about this one. Does he not haunt these hallowed halls? Did he not die when his ship was lost at sea?”

“That one?” the Duchess grunted. She scowled, lowering her chin until her glasses slid down her nose. “How would he haunt the manor if he died at sea? No, but he was an infamous sea-captain, and a rake. Famous for deceiving young ladies with outlandish tales of his bravery and occasionally pretending to be common-born. Never married, kept to a life at sea. It was rumored that he had affairs with all sorts of women; more than one babe was born on the wrong side of the blanket with those piercing blue eyes and dark hair.”

“Granny, all the Lucases have dark hair and blue eyes, and it’s hardly uncommon in this kingdom.”

“Yes, because of him.”

“He looks like a good time to me.”

“All the men do, my dear.”

“What say you, Princess Emma? Is this your young man?”

“What’s that?” the Duchess hedged, sounding urgent.

“Emma danced with a ghost who called himself Charles,” Ruby said conspiratorially, making Emma snatch her arm from her friend’s grasp.

“Did you?” Granny seemed to regard Emma with new interest, which she normally would have considered a triumph since the woman never seemed inclined to be impressed with anyone, even royalty.

“He was not a ghost,” Emma said indignantly, though as she looked at the portrait of Ruby’s ancestor, she began to wonder. He was certainly handsome, having the blue eyes and dark hair that did, indeed, mark him as a Lucas. He seemed to sneer at the onlooker, leaning against a pillar with the same arrogance that had been present in her mysterious Charles.

 _That is ridiculous,_ she told herself. _I did not dance with a ghost._

_Or did I?_

A year later, Ruby did not hold her masquerade. Times were too turbulent; there were rumblings that the Evil Queen, off licking her wounds for untold years, had formed an alliance with the Dark One. The fear that Misthaven was in danger had reined in the exuberance with which the kingdom had behaved for decades; there were less balls and musicales and more gatherings to raise capital to strengthen the kingdom’s defenses. Emma’s time was less and less hers and more and more the sole discretion of the queen, the king, and their newly-convened war council.

As the weeks turned to months, Emma thought less and less of her mysterious dancing partner, only remembering him if Lady Ruby brought it up, which she often did while missing her handsome Captain.

“I’m in love,” Ruby sighed for the eighth time in as many days, flopping on the divan next to Emma in her sitting rooms at the palace.

“So you continue to say,” Emma smiled, signing her name simply before sanding the letter she’d been writing and rolling it up. Ruby tied a ribbon around it as Emma held a stick of red sealing wax over a candle. “Perhaps _your_ young man is a ghost, since I’ve never met him.”

“You will, formally. You saw him with me at the first two masques.” She continued to hold the rolled parchment as Emma pressed the royal seal into the letter; it was a small swan resting in a crown. Ruby had gifted it to her that very morning as a birthday present. “I’m bringing him to your birthday ball tonight.”

Emma lifted her head, smiling at the broad grin on her friend’s face. “Finally! Was he on the envoy that returned a few days ago?”

“He was. I only found out he was back when he came to visit last night.”

“Ruby!” Emma gasped, laughing as she took the rolled letter and tapping her friend on the nose with it. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re simply envious because your own bedroom window is in a tower thirty feet off the ground.”

“True.” Emma set the letter at the edge of her writing desk, wrinkling her nose at its diplomatic nature and trying not to think on its contents too much. “So, you’ve kept the details of this one from me. All I know is that he’s an officer in Mother’s navy, which is not saying much as we both know a set of shiny brass buttons and a few medals turn your head every time.”

“Don’t forget the tall boots and extremely tight breeches.”

“Right.” Emma grinned, shaking her head. Then she had a brief flash of memory of Charles in his own tight breeches, and she felt her cheeks pinking as a result. Just as quickly, she dashed the memory from her mind. Years had passed since they’d first danced, and she’d heard neither hide nor hair of him in over a year. She was twenty-three now--no, twenty-four today!--and as her parents continued to gently remind her, it was high past time she started to consider the suit of eligible lords. Sighing, she focused on what Ruby was telling her, the thought of marrying for convenience utterly upsetting to her, especially considering her own mother had married a commoner for love.

“...and I hope it’s all right, but he’s bringing his brother with him.”

“Who’s bringing his brother where?”

“Emma,” Ruby laughed. “Have you been listening? I’m telling you about Liam.”

“Liam…?”

“Jones? Honestly, your highness. Has that horrid speech from your father about duty to the kingdom and how you ought to consider the Marquess of Whatsit and Who Cares rendered you insensible?”

“Liam Jones is your officer,” Emma said slowly, wishing she could stop thinking about her impending engagement, if her parents had aught to do with it, trying to focus on her friend’s words.

“Yes. _Captain_ Liam Jones. He’s far too good for me, much too honorable. In public,” Ruby finished, a wicked smile on her lips. “I was asking if you minded whether his little brother tagged along. Liam says he’s been in a foul mood for...well, over a year, really. There was an accident, and...anyway. I’ve yet to meet this brother, but to hear Liam tell it, he sounds like a night of revelry at the royal palace could do him some good. If it’s too late to secure an invitation for him, I’m sure Liam won’t mind, I simply thought--”

“Ruby,” Emma said kindly, reaching out to put a hand on her arm. Ruby never rambled on like that; it occurred to her that her friend really did like this Liam Jones. She actually seemed nervous asking. _Nothing_ unnerved Ruby Lucas, ever. Perhaps her grandmother’s opinion, but little else. “We can certainly accommodate a young boy at my birthday party. Plenty of room, and plenty of cakes. I’ll even dance with him, if he wishes.” Emma did not add that dancing with a young boy just might be the perfect alibi for avoiding whomever it was her parents would thrust at her next.

“Really?” Ruby said brightly, perking up so that her eyes glowed. “Oh, thank you, Em. I’ll tell Liam right now. We’re meeting for...well. You know.” Ruby stood, curtsying as was proper, but there was the devil in her eye as she did so.

“Do try not to be late because of...whatever it is you’re doing,” Emma called to her friend’s back.

Ruby laughed, the sound of her wicked joy trailing her as she went.

* * *

Emma attempted not to yawn at her partner; it would be unforgivably rude, and it might start a cross-realm incident, considering he was the third son of an Earl from some barony she’d never heard of. He was so correct in his address to her that not one meaningful bit of conversation had occurred in the thirteen--no, fourteen--minutes they’d been dancing.

So far, her birthday ball had been passing like all the others before it--men vying to be introduced to the crown princess and then doing one of two things: treating her like some prize to be won, or being so nervous they stepped on her feet and spent half the dance apologizing profusely. How she longed for the easy laughter found when two people wore masks, the freedom from the constraints of duty.

The sparkling eyes and rough jaw of a man who may or may not have been of this world.

When her partner led her back to the area where her parents sat, he bowed clumsily over her hand, pressing his dry lips to her knuckles and thanking her quite stiffly for the honor. Emma had to close her eyes to prevent all from seeing her roll them to the heavens; would this interminable ball ever end?

“Not the one for you, then,” came her father’s voice over her shoulder. “Perhaps the princess would consider dancing with an old man?” She turned and smiled, looking fondly at the king and dipping into a low curtsey.

“Your majesty.”

“My beautiful lady.”

The entire dance floor parted for the king and the princess, smiles of approval lighting their way as they took their place at the head of the line. Emma took great joy in dancing with her father, and he with her--his own proud smile matched hers in enjoyment, and it was the first time the entire evening that Emma took pleasure in her partner.

As they spun about, hands clasped, Emma’s eye was caught by a flash of red; _finally, Ruby is here_ , she thought. She caught a brief glimpse of a navy blue coat and golden epaulets-- _that must be Liam Jones, then_. As the push and flow of the movements brought dancers between her and Ruby, Emma tried in vain to look for a smaller version of Liam, his brother. From what she could tell, Liam was a very tall and handsome man; she smiled, picturing a miniature version of him awkwardly spinning her about in a dance. Would he be like the others, much in awe that he was dancing with a princess? Or would he be smug about it, a youth overly impressed with himself for securing the honor of a royal’s hand? She found that she was rather looking forward to it, and she hadn’t been looking forward to a dance since…

The King kissed her hand at the end of their dance, the both of them smiling as all assembled clapped for the sweet and well-executed minuet from their king and princess. As he led her away, Emma leaned her head on his shoulder, murmuring that Ruby was there, and she wished to meet her Captain Jones.

“Lady Ruby is serious about this Captain, from what I hear,” her father said, amusement clear in his voice. “God help him. Do tell her not to ruin him too much, we rather rely on him and his ability to command loyalty to both himself and the crown. We’re giving him our flagship for the next campaign, but don’t tell Ruby just yet. He is to be honored tomorrow, along with the officers of his crew. They’ve all been invited to the palace to dine.”

“You’re giving him the _Jewel_?” Emma asked softly, much impressed. It would seem Ruby had found herself an excellent gentleman, if her parents trusted him enough to sail the crowning ship in their armada.

Father led Emma toward the boisterous crowd surrounding Lady Ruby, the noise dying down somewhat once the princess entered their midst.

“Emma! Er, I mean, your highness,” Ruby laughed hastily, dipping into a curtsey with one hand still in the crook of the tall, handsome man’s elbow. “Captain Liam Jones, may I present her Royal

Highness, Princess Emma of Misthaven and the Seven Kingdoms. Princess Emma, Captain Liam Jones of Fortuna.” Emma dipped her head as Liam bowed low and formal.

“An honor, milady,” Liam said, his voice a low and pleasant rumble. She held her hand out and he pressed a correct and perfectly executed kiss to her knuckles, his thumb in place so his lips never touched her royal hand. Emma nearly grinned; what would Ruby do with a man who seemed to easily follow protocol and carry himself so honorably? Then she saw the way her friend looked at him and she thought she could see how smitten she seemed to be.

“Your highness, I wished to introduce my brother to you, but he seems to have vanished. Again.” There was a dark turn to Liam’s voice and it made Emma frown; there were so many places in the palace to hide. She hoped the young scamp would not get himself into trouble--Liam did not seem the type of man to countenance such antics, and she hated the thought of Ruby’s suitor--who it seemed was also the chosen leader to carry out her parent’s battle plans--having to spend her birthday searching for a troublemaker. Liam’s frown quickly righted as he flashed her a charming and subdued smile. “Killian has been rather reserved lately. I’d hoped the prospect of meeting fancy people at a fancy party at the castle would bring a smile on his face, if only for the ridiculous pomp involved in...oh, I beg your pardon. I did not mean that your birthday--”

“Captain Jones, it is all right,” Emma laughed, reaching out to reassure him. She liked Liam immensely. He seemed to carry strength on his admittedly broad shoulders, and if he was enough to bring her vivacious friend to scratch, then he must be a good man, indeed. “I would be delighted to make your brother’s acquaintance, if he ever comes out of hiding. Do tell him that the princess requests a dance, if that helps tease him from his reluctance.”

Liam seemed taken aback at that. “That’s very generous of you, your highness, but it’s hardly necessary.”

“Oh, Captain. I would not mind. I’ve danced with awkward youths before. It’s no more a punishment than the parades of eligible gentlemen I’m forced to dance with at every royal function.” Emma could not understand Ruby’s sudden burst of laughter, so strong she covered her mouth with her hand. “What?”

“I feel that there has been a miscommunication, Emma.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, here he is,” Liam murmured, seeming amused himself. “Killian, where have you been? I’d like to introduce you to her royal highness, the Princess Emma. Highness, this is my brother, Lieutenant Killian Jones.” Emma turned, a smile on her lips that froze the moment she took in the “little” brother.

Liam’s brother was not nearly as tall, but he was far from little. He, too, was wearing the formal dress uniform of her mother’s royal navy, the two stripes at his cuffs indicating his rank of lieutenant. His eyes were a startling shade of blue and the slight scowl he was sporting did not detract one bit from the handsomeness of his face. He bowed low, the formality every bit as correct as his brother, but there was a note of surliness in it. Emma was instantly on the defensive, fascinating blue eyes or no.

“Highness.”

“Lieutenant.”

There was a brief moment of uneasy silence after the exchange. Desperately, Emma cast about for something to say, but she came up short. Blessedly, the majordomo called out for the waltz to gasps of delight; horribly, Emma realized she was going to have to dance with this man who clearly wished to be anywhere but at her birthday ball.

“My lady,” Liam murmured to Ruby, their eyes meeting as he took her hand. The passion that flared between them startled Emma somewhat--she was used to seeing her friend with any manner of men, but never with the look that was on her face that rippled through her entire body as Liam took her to the dance floor. She sighed; had Ruby finally found love in this honorable gentleman?

“I suppose it would be bad form if we simply stood here, highness,” Killian said from her side. Emma prayed for patience as she turned to him, putting on her best courtier face and smiling thinly. He did not speak any further and she felt the urge to poke him, to tell him it was up to him to ask her to dance.

He did not. The dancers continued taking their places, and Emma wondered if this lieutenant was going to allow the princess to simply stand there. It would be disastrous for him to not ask; she could see in her mind’s eye the rumors that would fly about the following day, and the last thing she wanted was for Ruby’s Captain Jones to be embarrassed by the poor behavior of his younger, surlier brother.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, then louder, “why, yes, lieutenant. I would be delighted.” She put her hand on his arm and practically dragged him to the center of the dance floor. She expected to see annoyance or possibly amusement in his eyes as she faced him; she was not prepared for the shock quickly turned to suspicion before his face fell into a bland expression. Tentatively, she reached out, placing one hand on his right shoulder and crooking her left elbow, her movements automatic. His face fell slightly before he clenched his jaw, the violin beginning to sing somewhere from the sides of the ballroom. Emma sighed, wondering if she was going to have to lead all evening. Did not officers know how to dance?

Just when she was going to reach out for his left hand, he lifted his arm, hesitation clear in his body. Impatiently, she reached for his hand and then felt shame steal over her. His hand was unnaturally stiff, and she did not know how to proceed; how does one clasp hands with someone who does not have that very appendage?

“Forgive me,” she whispered, horrified at her own behavior. With sudden insight, she realized why this man might not wish to dance with a lady, and the thought angered her. Not at him, but rather on his behalf.

“Why, are you a terrible dancer?” he whispered back. She looked up to meet his eyes and for one brief moment, she was taken back to the first masque. Killian’s eyes danced as a sardonic smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “I have it on good authority that one only needs the right partner. Have I faltered?”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. She tightened her hold on his false hand, well aware he could not feel it but wanting to do it anyway.

Then the waltz began, and she was swept away.

“So,” he said after a few turns made in complete silence. Emma nearly felt sorry for this young man; he did not seem to know how to acquit himself on the dance floor. His dancing itself was excellent; it was conversation that he did not seem to know how to handle. “Shouldn’t I have been the one to ask you to dance?”

“You did not seem inclined to do it, so I had to take charge,” she retorted.

“I...am terrible company for anyone, much less the future queen.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

He looked at her with consternation, his eyes flicking to the hand stiff against hers, and she immediately understood.

“Does it not bother you, highness?”

“Why would it? I’m more bothered that you do not seem to wish to dance with me.”

“I’d be a damned fool to not wish to dance with Princess Emma of Misthaven. The sailors did not exaggerate when they said you were fairer than even your mother.”

“Perhaps that’s why the Evil Queen is back,” she grinned, the corners of her mouth stretching wider when he grinned back.

“Luckily for you, my brother is ready to lead the attack. Protecting your beautiful face is as good a reason as any,” he said cheekily, seeming to warm into it the more they danced.

“Well, should she attempt to invade once again, she’ll see this very face scowling at her with a sword pointed at her throat,” Emma said darkly, her smile falling. It was too true; it seemed that war was inevitable at this point. Killian chuckled, and she realized with a start that he was much more handsome when he lightened up.

“Does our princess practice swordplay, then?”

“Practice,” she scoffed, gasping in delight as he executed a particularly tight turn. “My father is the greatest swordsman in the realm. His daughter is the greatest swords _woman_ in the realm.”

“I’ll bet you can handle any sword you grasped,” he murmured, and she felt a thrill at the tone in his voice. He was flirting with her. Most men sounded lecherous when they did that; Killian sounded...good. Full of promise.

“You’d speak that way to your princess?” she challenged, raising a brow. He raised one in kind, delivering a devastating smile that filled her with consternation. Luckily, he was as good at dancing as he was raillery, and she did not stumble as he spoke next.

“I speak that way to any worthy woman, my princess or no.”

Emma found she was having a good time despite their rocky beginning. Killian wasn’t being incorrect in his address, but he lacked the stiff formality and the false charm of the men she was usually forced to dance with. He seemed...himself, even though his self was reserved and a bit stand-offish. However, she sensed that beneath his obvious reluctance to be there was a charming and honorable man.

“Worthy enough to lose a hand over, anyway.”

Emma realized she had been staring at him as she had been thinking and felt her cheeks warm. Not because of the compliment, but because his face was nice to look at, even though she had not been admiring it.

Then she processed what he’d said and gasped.

“You...you lost it recently, then?”

“Aye, milady. Perhaps that’s why I had no wish to come tonight. Not because of you,” he rushed to add, blushing slightly, “but because the last time I danced, I--well. My shame kept me away from her, and now I fear I’ve lost her forever.” He finished, his voice soft and sad. Emma immediately felt terrible for the handsome young lieutenant. She squeezed the shoulder underneath her palm, smiling sincerely and hoping he understood she did not pity him.

“Any young woman who would hold that against you is not worth the effort, Lieutenant,” she said softly. He looked up at her, all pretense gone, his expression morose, but in his eyes there shined a lovely light, and it brought her back once again to another ball, another waltz.

It was the second time this dance with the handsome lieutenant had reminded her of Charles. And like that, Emma became upset. She had done so well in not thinking about him--what was it about this young man that reminded her so of her maybe-ghost?

Perhaps it was the eyes. For a moment they’d twinkled. Or the dark hair. Charles’ was much more disheveled, more rakish--Killian’s was neat and tied back. And his beard was more grown, not the scratchy stubble of a man who’d forgotten to shave.

“Thank you for the dance, highness,” Killian murmured. Emma was startled to realize that their waltz had ended and that she was standing in the middle of the ballroom, still in Killian’s arms, he waiting for her to do something. Smiling to cover her embarrassment and hoping no one had noticed the princess in the arms of an officer while staring at his face, lost in thought (she was certain she could already hear the buzz of gossip floating about the ballroom and sighed internally), Emma smoothly turned and took his left arm in one motion, her hand resting on his wrist. He led her away, his arm crooked stiffly, back to Ruby and Liam, who were laughing by the punch bowl.

The rest of the night, Emma continued to dance with the men who asked. Killian never did ask, but he was much on her mind the rest of the night.

* * *

The following evening, Emma got ready for dinner with some trepidation. Guests at the castle were a frequent thing, and often officers and other important members of the kingdom were invited to dine with their rulers. Emma usually attended such functions, knowing full well that she needed to play her part and get used to doing such things in the course of carrying out her royal duty.

She was not certain why she felt so nervous. Even her lady’s maid noticed.

“You are fidgeting.”

“I am not,” Emma said, her voice haughty. Elsa raised a brow, her eyes darting to Emma’s reflection, but she did not say another word as she tightened the laces on her corset.

“The blue silk tonight?”

“No. The white.” Emma did not know why she wanted that one. It was hardly appropriate for a simple, informal dinner. She did not acknowledge that her mind had been on Charles again, and all white dresses reminded her of the nights she had danced as a swan with a mysterious young man who she would never know in the light of day.

The cut was not the same--it was more modest though still flowing freely and still adorned with the exquisite beadwork favored by the royal seamstresses. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror while Elsa fussed over the braided crown about her head, she wanted to pull her feathered mask from its hiding place and try it on, perhaps as a last time thing, before putting it away forever.

It was time to stop thinking about missed opportunities with handsome young men.

And perhaps start thinking about future opportunities with handsome young men who did _not_ disappear.

During dinner, Emma was seated at her usual place near her father; she wondered whether the rumors surrounding the princess and a certain lieutenant who had held each other a bit too long the night before were responsible for the other seating arrangements. Killian was across the table from her, two seats down from the king. Liam was at the other end in between her mother and Lady Ruby; other officers were scattered across the table as well as a few courtiers.

“So, Lieutenant Jones. Tell me about yourself.” Her father leaned back, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin and looking sternly over at Killian on his right. The entire table hushed, as if all could sense drama on the horizon. Emma steeled herself; _I guess the gossip mill abounds,_ she thought with annoyance. Normally, the king was nothing but polite and accommodating of any young men at the dinner table. It was almost amusing, the way he nearly glared at the young lieutenant at his side.

She thought she detected Killian shooting an amused look her way before clearing his throat. “What would you like to know, your majesty?”

“Oh, the usual. Did you attend university? Have you traveled much? Places you’ve seen, things you’ve done, women you’ve--”

“Father,” Emma hedged, aware the entire table was listening and wanting to spare Killian whatever verb her father had been about to use. “Did you not have a piece of news you wished to share with Captain Jones? You and mother?” She turned to the rest of the table, flashing a smile she hoped looked genuine. “Something that concerns all of our honored guests tonight?” Emma’s mother grinned, her eyes darting from the king to Killian then back to Emma, looking impressed with her daughter’s ability to change the subject.

Her father begrudgingly nodded, calling for the next dish and waiting while it was served. Emma chanced a look at Killian, waiting until he met her eye and smiling briefly. She mouthed, “sorry” at him, dipping her head toward her father. Killian winked in response.

When the queen announced that she had new orders for the crew, that they were to report upon the morrow to the Misthaven harbormaster and take over sailing the best ship in her armada, there was stunned silence in the hall.

“Your majesty,” Liam breathed. Emma watched as he looked from her mother then down the table to his brother; Killian, too, seemed at a loss for words, his mouth hanging open before stretching into a wide, genuine grin. _He looks so young and carefree,_ Emma thought. She wondered how difficult it would be to elicit such a smile from him on her own.

After all twelve courses had been enjoyed, the royal couple invited the officers to stay for brandy and cigars, if they wished. There was no separation of the sexes in the royal palace--it was not a tradition the queen had been keen on keeping, so it was with a case of the nerves that Emma was led to one of the sitting rooms on the arm of Captain Liam Jones.

“A word of--not caution, highness, but perhaps information.” They were almost there, Liam leading Emma toward a seat near the fireplace.

“Yes, Captain?”

“My brother is a good man. He’s had a rough go of it lately, but I promise, he is not normally such a--if you’ll forgive the language--surly git. He refused to tell me what had you two arguing during your dance last night, but I assure you, he will not behave such a way--”

“Captain,” she interrupted as she seated herself on the settee. “We did not argue. It was...it was lovely. He’s an excellent dancer, and I had a good time.” Emma hoped the cheerful blaze from the fire was hiding the warmth in her cheeks. What was wrong with her!

Liam looked at her strangely, seemingly at a loss for words. He recovered as others seated themselves near, his eyes darting to the side where Killian was escorting Ruby into the room.

“Interesting,” was all he said before smiling and dipping his head. He left, and then Emma looked up, smiling at her friend. Her eyes were caught by a pair of startling blue ones, and as she looked at both Ruby and Killian standing together and joined by Liam, Emma was struck by how handsome all three of them were with their blue eyes and dark hair, almost as if there was some relation.

Killian was still looking her way so she smiled at him, tilting her head to indicate the vacant seat at her side. With a cocky grin he came forward, sketching a quick bow before seating himself next to her on the settee.

“I did not thank you for the dance last night,” he began, grinning again before continuing. “Your father is glaring at me.”

“Ignore him.”

“Ignore the king? Hardly seems wise.”

“He glares at every potential suitor.” Killian’s eyebrows shot up.

“Suitor? That’s…” Emma was sure her blush was visible that time.

“I...well. It’s high time I married, as my mother keeps reminding me. Every man with whom I dance is a potential suitor.”

“What a terrible burden,” he murmured, looking sympathetic. “Cannot a woman simply enjoy a dance without the entire kingdom wondering whether their future king is in her arms?”

“No,” Emma replied simply, for it was all too true. “I never get the chance to simply enjoy myself.”

“Never?” he said, his eyes roaming her face. “You’ve never had one dance where you were free?” Her mind shot to the masquerades she’d attended, the memories sweet and only somewhat wistful.

“A girl needs to grow up sometime and forget fanciful moments,” was all she said. He seemed to accept it, nodding but not saying more on the subject. After a fashion, he observed that the officers all seemed jubilant at their recent honor.

“I myself am not sure I deserve to sail on the finest ship in the fleet, but I’m quite certain my brother does. He’s the best man I know. Surely, the Dark One and the Evil Queen do not stand a chance.”

Suddenly, the prospect of Killian and Liam going into battle seemed awful to Emma. She reached out before she could stop herself, grasping his arm and squeezing fervently.

“Do not charge off into heroics, Lieutenant. Keep yourself safe.”

He looked at her with some surprise, his features softening as she met his eyes.

“For my princess, anything.”

It was startling, how sincere he was. Gone was the “surly git” she’d met the night before. She did not even attempt to stop her next words.

“Will you write to me of your travels? I’ve never sailed away from the kingdom. It must be wonderful.”

A slow grin lit his face.

“Is it not improper for an unmarried woman to write to a gentleman?”

“Lieutenant,” she said, a slight thrill going up her spine when he focused on her lips, “I’m the future queen. I do what I want.”

“Like dragging young lieutenants to the dance floor.”

“And handling swords.”

It was nearly sinful the way his eyebrow arched and his lips curled into a wicked smile.

“Then I’ll write to you as often as you like.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Your father is glaring again.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t smile at me like that.”

“You wish me to stop?”

“No,” she said. “I really do not.”

“All right, then,” he returned, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

When Emma tried to fall asleep that night, a set of blue eyes were on her mind, and she wondered how long it would be before she saw Lieutenant Jones again.

* * *

Seven months later, and she was still asking herself that very question. Killian wrote to her often enough to satisfy her need to know he was all right but not often enough to keep her impatience at bay. He described in avid detail the wonders of the sea and of the _Jewel_ itself, his language clear that he was born to live on the ocean.

He also revealed much about himself, about how he and his brother had grown up without a mother, that their father was a lout who’d abandoned them when Killian was but eight years of age. She gasped when reading that they’d been sold into indentured servitude, cried when he’d written in one simple, terse statement that it his childhood had not been ideal. She could only imagine the horrors he’d experienced, so young a boy forced into near-slavery because of his coward of a father. That he was such a fine and upstanding man who’d conquered his dubious upbringing made her heart thrum with pride.

He also spoke glowingly and with obvious love and affection about his brother. Emma asked around about the commendations of Captain Jones, her presence at the naval yard nearly a weekly thing as she awaited letters from the battlefront. With glowing recommendations, the admiralty told their princess that both the Jones boys were excellent officers, Liam a credit to his kingdom and his brother following in his footsteps. She learned the horrid details of the battle that had taken his hand, and how Liam’s fury had single-handedly (ha!) won the battle when he thought his brother would die.

It nearly brought Emma to tears, the fierce loyalty that was revealed in the actions of both the brothers Jones. The way Killian spoke of Liam (and the way Ruby told her that Liam spoke of Killian) made Emma long for that kind of love and loyalty.

For she realized she really was quite infatuated with Lieutenant Killian Jones, which was ridiculous as they’d shared one dance and one dinner. But there it was.

She was no true fool--she knew she was silly, falling for a man through letters. But the way he spoke was so affecting--he was witty and clever, somehow both smug and self-deprecating, all at once. She only hoped she acquitted herself half as well in her responses, feeling quite plain and boring as she spoke of the goings-on in the kingdom and telling him embarrassing stories of her first kiss (with a stable hand) and when she’d nicked her finger during a recent sword practice with Father.

She hoped it was not obvious during their correspondence that her feelings for him were growing; she did not know how she would ever face him when he returned. At the same time, she was desperate to see him again.

And then came news of a great and terrible battle, many casualties and two ships lost. Frantically, Emma stormed the war council, demanding updates and cursing that Mother’s birds weren’t flying fast enough to deliver information. There was too much confusion, too many false accounts. It was unclear whether the _Jewel_ had sunk or slunk away. Mother called for the immediate retreat of the armada, to regroup and to protect the kingdom, for it seemed that the Evil Queen was on her way.

And while Emma turned her mind toward preparing to defend her kingdom should invasion occur, she still kept her thoughts on her Lieutenant, sending every prayer she knew and some made-up ones besides for the safe return of all of the sailors, Killian foremost.

* * *

The morning that news arrived that the flagship of the armada, the _Jewel of the Realm_ , had been captured by pirates, a final letter arrived from Killian. Emma was numb with shock; her mother had delivered the news gently, pulling her aside and quietly informing her that the fate of the crew was undetermined. It was clear from the tone of her voice that the queen thought they were lost, but she still tried to be hopeful, for her daughter’s sake. Emma dully thought of Ruby, of how heartbroken her friend would be to find out that she and Liam had been recently affianced for naught.

“This arrived for you this morning,” Mother said, handing her a box with a letter tied around it with ribbon. Emma nodded, curtsying without thought as she took the neat and tidy package. Her mind utterly blank, Emma walked back to her rooms, responding automatically to greetings and smiling without feeling at those she passed. She let herself in, dismissing Elsa’s puzzled inquiry and slowly sitting at the edge of her bed. She saw Killian’s looping script, _Her Royal Highness the Princess Emma_ written across the envelope. With trepidation, she pulled the ribbon free and placed the box at her side, worrying the ribbon between trembling fingers and not wishing to open the envelope. Not if it was the last time she would be reading a letter from him. Eventually, she inhaled deeply to steady herself before breaking the wax seal on the back of it.

It was not full of his usual charm and wit. It was somber, and it was unlike anything he’d ever written to her before. Usually, his letters were full of amusement; this one was more wonderful than the others for its words, yet utterly devastating in its finality.

_Emma--_

_The nights are long out here on the open ocean; as I listen to the grumblings of men in dire need of rest and a few nights at port, my thoughts turn to a certain port and a certain lady._

_From the very beginning, you’ve been much more to me than a mere princess. I told myself time and time again that I would never be worthy of you, that I’d never endeavor to live up to the image of the man you’d want at your side. Selfishly, I continued to think of you as mine, even if you never gave any indication that was something you’d want. Even when I was at my darkest hour, I had remembrances of you to light my way, the memory of your smile banishing my terrible thoughts and the sound of your laughter echoing in my mind lifting me from my worst moods._

_Losing my hand had been awful; losing you would have been untenable._

_I know not how you feel about me, but I’m desperate to find out. If you do not feel the same I shall have to live with it, if, indeed, I am still alive when this letter finds you. I fear that my time is at an end, what with the war waging around me, so I had to write this letter so you’d know. It has been hidden beneath my bunk, burning a hole in my thoughts, even as I wrote you other letters. I did not send it before because I did not think I was ready for you to read it, so there it shall sit until something happens to me. I do not want my feelings to go unacknowledged should the unthinkable occur, so here it goes:_

_I’ve been in love with you for far longer than you’d ever suspect. I did not think myself capable of such emotions, in fact tried to banish them, but you returned to find me, and I was lost. You’re a once in a lifetime love, Emma, a woman it has been an honor to adore across time and distance. I could never get you out of my head, and once I gave myself to the inevitability of loving you, I felt much better for it. You need not return my feelings; it is enough knowing that I was capable of feeling such things, once I’d met you._

_I know this makes little sense, so I’ve sent along something that I hope will explain it all far better than my rambling can convey. All I can ask before you open it is to forgive me for being such a fool for leaving you over and over again. And I wish for you to know that it remains my fervent wish, should I survive, to beg your forgiveness every day and as much as you’ll let me._

_If I do not survive, know that I remain forever_

_Utterly Yours,_

_Lt. Killian Jones_

Emma did not wish to open the box. Like the letter, if it remained unopened, then he remained alive. But oh, what a letter! To say she was astonished would be to understate what she was feeling inside. He loved her!

Her unacknowledged feelings burst forth. Emma was not merely infatuated with a handsome officer; she, too, loved.

She realized she was crying silently and had been as she reread the letter two more times. Not bothering to wipe the tears from her cheeks, she reached out and touched the corner of the box at her side.

Then she straightened her spine, trying not to think of Killian sitting alone in his bunk, writing her this one last letter. With fury at the missed opportunity, she opened the box, bracing herself for whatever was inside.

When she saw it, she at first did not understand.

_How did he--_

And then it all came blazing to her in an amazing, blinding flash of insight.

Reaching into the small box, she pulled out a plain black mask.

A white feather fell as she lifted it.

“Charles,” she said aloud with no small amount of wonder. And then, “Killian Jones.”

Then she felt her brow dip in simmering determination, and she knew what she had to do.

* * *

A month later found Emma in breeches and a loose blouse, standing at the prow of a schooner with both hands balanced on the rail. The ship was light and fast, cutting through the chop on the easily as the captain called out commands.

“We’ll be there by tomorrow, highness,” she called out, winking at Emma in the midday sun. Emma merely nodded, confident that the crew manning the fastest ship at her disposal would not fail.

Once word of the _Jewel’s_ capture had spread, information had started pouring in from all corners. Emma took over the war council with a fury unparalleled since the days of the Evil Queen. Her parents frequently exchanged looks of pity and worry but neither overruled her decisions; she was a woman on the warpath, and she _would_ have her revenge. If she helped defeat the Dark One and the Evil Queen during her quest, then all the better.

For Princess Emma of Misthaven, daughter of Queen Snow White, was determined to find the _Jewel of the Realm_ , and she _would_ find the sorry bastard who’d killed her love.

“Pirates,” she muttered under her breath. She’d kill every last one of them if she had to. Then she’d defeat the Dark One and all of his allies, and then maybe one day she’d take the throne a lonely and bitter woman, but at least she’d have her revenge.

Initially, she had been counseled to hide her identity as she sailed the open seas, but Emma did no such thing. No; when she found those pirates, she wished for them to know that it was a princess that ran them through with her sword. She wanted everyone to know what it meant to anger the future queen of Misthaven.

Besides, she was done with disguising her true identity. Perhaps if she hadn’t hidden herself, the she and Killian could have…

She pushed the thought away. One could suffer uselessly on “perhaps.”

Days turned to weeks, and Emma had her crew pursuing every piece of intelligence, sussing out every whispered word of the brigands who were brazen enough to fly the jolly roger on the proud mast of the jewel of her majesty’s armada. Finally, they received word that the pirates were headed toward the Dark One’s isle; Emma gritted her teeth as she crumpled the letter from a trusted source. Perhaps she would take on her kingdom’s enemies, as well.

The captain and indeed, the entire crew, eyed her warily as she made the command to pursue her mother’s captured ship. She knew they would follow her to the Dark One should she ask, but she wasn’t certain she wished to lead the men and women crewing her schooner into ruin.

“I’ll sail her myself, if need be,” she muttered as she stared into the distance, looking toward a ship she could not yet see.

 _Soon, Killian_ , she said to herself. _I will find the man who did this to you, and I will have my way with him._

It took a mere five days for the call from the crow’s nest to sound out over the deck: _Captain! The Jewel of the Realm, ho!_

Resting her hand on the pommel of her sword, Emma clenched her jaw and looked toward the horizon. The captain eyed her, silently asking if she desired pursuit. She nodded; no need to exchange words. The entire crew knew Emma’s wishes.

As the much quicker schooner began to gain on the _Jewel_ , Emma reflected with little amusement on the events that had led to her current path: how did a princess in search of a frivolous time devoid of court duties end up on a quest for revenge against an unknown, murderous pirate? Ruby’s teasing smile and ghost stories filtered through her thoughts and at that she nearly smiled; how long ago that seemed! How much had happened since a young princess had thought nothing in the world could be worse than falling in love with a ghost.

Well. Perhaps that had come to pass, after all.

But she refused to think of Killian in those terms so instead she stood still, waiting for the moment to take her revenge. Then she would go back to her kingdom and continue life as a proper princess. Perhaps after she killed a Dark One, and the Evil Queen besides.

Ignoring the ridiculous turn of her own thoughts, Emma continued looking toward the horizon, sucking in a sharp breath when she saw the tiny dot of a ship grow larger as they gained.

 _Enjoy your last, pirate_ , she warned in her mind.

* * *

The skirmish was laughably short-lived. Emma had figured the sight of the flag merrily displaying the coat of arms of the royal family of Misthaven would be enough to get at the very least a shot across the bow, but the pirates seemed to wish to avoid a battle. _Well, too bad_ , Emma told them. _I’m coming for you._

The much faster schooner easily caught up with the large brig; a flurry of activity surrounded her as the captain shouted for preparations to board. Emma heard the crisp and satisfying _schink_ of swords being drawn as she herself ensured her pistols were loaded and ready; as they pulled alongside the larger vessel, one of the lieutenants shouted out that he demanded to speak to the captain.

“Something ain’t right,” muttered the marine tasked with guarding the princess’s life. “Why don’t they fire at us?”

“Major, I’m quite sure I don’t give a fuck,” Emma murmured, her eyes scanning the rails of the other ship, looking for a man capable of murdering her love.

That is not what she saw, however, when a head finally popped over the rail.

“Oy! You’re going to ruin my cover!”

With that confusing statement, Emma’s crew eyed each other, wondering how to respond. Emma’s mouth went dry.

The captain recovered first. “Identify yourself!” she shouted.

But Emma already knew who he was.

“Liam,” she breathed. She hadn’t realized until letting out that breath that her heart had become a dull and lifeless thing, going through the motions of beating without feeling. But when she heard Liam shout, “I’m Captain Jones, you dolt, who the hell else would be captaining the most marvelous ship in the realm?”, her heart started to race wildly. Faces, grinning faces, appeared over the rail and Emma searched every single one of them, looking for the one face she never thought to see again, trying not to let hope start her heart and yet desperately wishing for it at the same time. _Please_ , she thought. _Please, he has to be alive, he must._ She hadn’t realized until that moment that she had already locked him away in a box, but now that box was rattling with an unnerving rhythm beating furiously with damnable hope.

What a terrible thing, hope. Her heart beat out a furious staccato, nearly stabbing through her chest as her eyes continued to search unfamiliar faces and pandemonium broke out on her ship. Each time a new face appeared she looked with hope that was dashed quickly; automatically, she followed the crew across the boards that were lowered, her hands still on sword and flintlock, her hair whipping wildly as she practically ran over the chasm separating ship from ship, a perilous plunge to the ocean her reward should she falter.

Emma was aware that the astonished faces of the crew of the _Jewel of the Realm_ were almost comical in the way they goggled at her before dropping into deep bows. _The Princess, the Princess_ , they hissed to one another as she walked around them, looking for a particular face. But where was he? Surely, he was alive. She was alive, despite her recent and utter disregard for her own safety. Killian _had_ to be alive.

“Your highness?”

Emma turned, at first thinking she was seeing Killian, but it was his brother. Liam seemed just as confused as the crew, his brow drawn down as he bowed. Emma stopped before him, impatiently waiting to get the pleasantries out of the way so she could blurt out the questions that were threatening to spew from her throat. As Liam rose, Emma nearly batted away his proferred hand, simply wanting to get everything out of the way so she could find out what the hell had happened.

“What are you doing here, Emma?”

Emma gasped along with the crew at the informal use of her name, though not because of the informality. And then she was gasping because there he was--Killian Jones himself, alive and standing there before her.

She strode toward him, still clenching the gun and sword in her hands, sudden fury filling her body with purpose. He was alive! She was going to _kill_ him.

“You’d better not be a ghost, Killian Jones, because I wish to kill you myself so then you’ll be a ghost. What the hell! I’d heard that pirates killed you and took this ship. I’d heard the crew’s fate was undetermined. I’d heard that the Dark One himself got you. Yet here you stand before me, and I thought you died! You died, and I never got to tell you that I love you. You’re supposed to be dead!” She finished her tirade, her breathing erratic and heavy. The entire time, Killian had looked like he wished to be anywhere but there, his eyes growing wider the angrier she got. But by the time she’d finished, he looked astonished, and she realized belatedly that she’d just told him she loved him in front of two full crews of the royal navy.

“Why would I be a ghost?” was all he said. He curled his lips in a smug smile, and she wanted to smack him in his beautiful face.

“Oh, you, you _blackguard_ , how could you--”

“Perhaps we ought to take this discussion elsewhere,” he offered, coming toward her, but she took a step back, still heaving, still angry, still overcome with joy. Alive!

“Do not presume to tell me what to do,” she sneered , a line she often heard her mother jokingly saying to her father, but it worked in her current situation as well.

“I presume nothing, highness,” he murmured, reaching out as if she were a wild animal in need of taming. “I simply...I am glad to see you.”

“I--”

“I’d hoped you’d be glad to see me, as well, although I also hoped it would be when we returned home triumphant in infiltrating the Dark One’s fortress,” he continued, looking down at his one hand to inspect his nails. He looked up at her through his eyelashes and her own eyes narrowed--she could see the mischief in them, that teasing look that had drawn her to him in the first place. Insufferable man!

“ _Ahem_ ,” Liam said behind her, nearly making Emma jump. She’d momentarily forgotten they had an entire audience before them. “Your highness, might I suggest we take this below so we can discuss what news from the queen? I assume that’s why you are here, is it not? Because she has received word that we are, indeed, alive, posing as pirates to get in with the enemy’s forces in order to turn the tides of the war?” Emma turned to see the significant look on Liam’s face and she thanked him for it with her eyes; nodding curtly, Emma finally let go her hold on her weapons and turned back, whisking past the now-wary form of Killian Jones and down to the captain’s quarters.

She could hear an exchange argued in furious whispers before the brothers Jones entered; Emma dismissed the marine that had followed her, insisting that she was hardly in danger with two officers of the royal navy. When he left with protests on his lips, Emma turned to face Liam and Killian with accusations hot on her tongue.

“Explain,” was all she said, reaching for the patience and diplomacy that had been drilled into her since she was young, but it was a near thing.

She listened as they told her how they’d almost been boarded by pirates, but the crew of the Jewel had answered in heroic fashion, swiftly dispatching the marauders and managing to extract information on the enemy besides. Apparently, Killian had gotten the brilliant idea to pose as the very pirates they’d defeated; it had been Liam who’d suggested they put about the rumor that they were dead. A letter was sent to the queen explaining their actions; did she not receive it?

“No,” Emma replied tersely. “She did not.”

Neither Liam nor Killian seemed to know how to respond to that. They exchanged guilty looks, shuffling their feet and not speaking, but then a crestfallen look of realization overtook Liam’s face.

“Ruby thinks I’m dead.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Oh, gods. Is she--”

“She is not fine, Captain, no. She made me promise to kill the bastards that took you from her with my own two hands. I think she had been planning to stow away with me, but the Duchess put a stop to that. The Queen tried to stop me, but, well. I am my mother’s daughter. I simply had to--” She met Killian’s eye and what she saw there nearly took her breath from her. Sorrow. Shame. Pride, blazing furious.

And love. Gods, she saw love there. She hoped it was reflected in her own gaze.

They must have stared at one another for a beat too long, for Liam cleared his throat and made some excuse about seeing to the crew, leaving his own quarters and shutting the door softly behind him. Emma barely took notice; suddenly, she was alone with a man she’d thought dead.

A man she had thought to follow to hell or heaven or wherever it was they’d end up. So long as it was together.

 _I cannot believe you did this_ warred with _I’ve missed you_ in her mind, both phrases wanting to burst from her mouth, but instead she said, “You’ve a scar on your cheek.”

“Aye, highness. Happened in the skirmish. Pirate tried to knock the handsome from me.”

“As if that were possible,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips despite her determination to remain angry.

“You look…” His eyes roved over her form, an insouciant eyebrow tilting up as he raked over her breeches. She decided to give him a taste of his own smug satisfaction.

“I know.” She shifted her weight to one hip, her hand resting once again on the pommel of her sword. _This is ridiculous, go to him_ , she thought, but she seemed unable to move.

“So.”

“So.”

“Did you…” He paused, his face falling somewhat. He shifted a bit, not seeming to know what to do with his arms. Finally, he looked up at her, the uncertainty in his eyes nearly killing her. “Erm, did you receive my letter? I do not know what happened to the one meant for the queen, honestly, you cannot rely on post anymore and anyway, I can tell you what was in that letter but perhaps first you ought to tell me what you’re doing here, it isn’t safe, Emma. It isn’t safe. I need you to be safe. Perhaps Liam will allow me to escort you back to Misthaven, I don’t know what I’d--what we would do if you got hurt and it would be better if--”

Emma was certain he was about to make a confession of sorts, and while she longed to hear words of love pouring from his lips, she simply could not take it anymore. She strode toward him, grabbing him by the placket of his coat and dragging him down to her.

“I got your letter,” she breathed across his lips. “I am here because I wanted to kill the man that took you from me.” Before he could respond, she pulled him closer, taking a deep breath and kissing him soundly on the mouth.

She could taste his shock but it was short-lived; only a few drags of her lips against his had him wrapping his arms around her, his tongue responding in kind. Emma had been kissed before, but each man seemed to be very aware of whom he kissed and acted accordingly: with propriety and deference, and very little feeling.

But oh, this kiss. As her mind grew hazy with the slow reverence with which Killian opened his mouth to her, she supposed it was the difference between a man in awe of her station and a man in love with her as a person. She felt the brush of his hand at her hip, his fingers digging into the fabric of her breeches, and a hard presence at the small of her back that she supposed was his false hand. She sighed happily, melting into his embrace, his lips soft and delicious as they got lost in the kiss.

He pulled away slightly and she chased his mouth with her mouth and tongue, tasting his laughter as he pulled away farther. He looked down and regarded her seriously, his eyes still twinkling as he spoke.

“Did you really come all this way to avenge my death? That was foolish.”

“Well, after that letter, it was all I could think about.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

That stopped the both of them; Emma stilled in his arms and Killian froze above her. Then the corner of his mouth curled up, and all she could think was that she wished to bite the smile off of his face.

“I do. I really do.”

“And I love you. Even when I was infatuated with a ghost named Charles, I think I loved you.”

“Why do you keep speaking of a ghost?”

“A long story.” She grinned as he leaned down to kiss her once again.

A good ten minutes passed before Emma laughingly pulled him over to the desk, sitting down in a chair and grinning when he sat right on the desktop in front of her.

“Liam is going to charge you with mutiny for sitting on the captain’s desk.” She leaned forward, folding her arms across his lap and looking up at him, well-aware she was grinning and no longer caring. It was as if his safety and his kisses had leached the vengeful fury that had been driving her for months.

“Never did I dream such a thing would happen to me,” Killian said softly. He reached out and pinched a stray lock of her hair that must have fallen from its pins. “I barely remember that arrogant young man who danced with a swan. I knew who you were even then, you know.”

“You did not,” Emma scoffed, resisting the urge to push away. It felt heavenly, him caressing her hair as she rested on his legs.

“I did so. I knew Lady Ruby was great friends with the princess; when I saw you for the first time, you shined like the North Star, guiding me to you. The way you hold yourself is quite singular, you know. I told myself, ‘with that grace and that regal bearing, that one must be the princess.’ But I knew I wasn’t for you, so I kept my distance, told myself you’d never trust a rogue like me. Fortunately, I couldn’t help myself, I kept watching you dance with other men, not daring to ask you myself. Then you shocked a hundred years off my life by asking me, and, well. Here we are. You seemed keen on not revealing yourself, so I went along with it.” He pulled on her hair twice before leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “I can’t say I regret the outcome.”

“The following year you returned to the masquerade dressed exactly the same.”

“Yes, well. I can’t help but notice I wasn’t the only one, my lady swan.” Emma blushed pink at that, the warmth at her cheeks delightful. She knew she was grinning like a fool, and she cared not one bit.

“And the year after was when you lost your hand.” She had not put that together until she spoke the words aloud; Emma could almost kick herself for not realizing it sooner.

“Aye,” he said softly. “And the year after, I was finally starting to accept it when Liam told me that Lady Ruby was not to be holding her masque. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Liam says I became surlier and that he almost did not bring me along to your birthday ball. He didn’t know, of course; I could hardly tell my brother that I’d flirted with the princess of Misthaven when she was dressed as a swan.” Emma laughed with delight. She was gone; no use in denying it. _This man_ , she thought to herself with amused despair. “Then you thought I was a young boy, and then we danced again. I felt invigorated, you know. You never once treated me like anything but a whole man, and I fell in love with you all over again.”

Emma stiffened at the words; how wonderful they were, and how not-quite what she wanted to hear.

“Again, you say?” she teased, still unable to keep from grinning

“Yes, you saucy wench. You got my letter. But I do love you, Princess Emma. I don’t know what we’re going to do about that, me the common-born and you next in line for an entire kingdom, but there it is. I love you quite desperately, and having you here with me right before I may die is the sweetest gift I’ve ever been given.”

“You are not going to die,” Emma said, sitting up and looking at him with a fierce and mulish expression on her face. “I do not give you leave to die.”

“Which reminds me, highness. You’ve yet to explain your ghost comment.”

“Later,” she laughed, rising and folding her arms across her chest. “I’ll tell you when we’re on our way to the fortress.” Killian goggled, his mouth falling open.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Killian,” she sighed, relishing the way his name tasted in her mouth. “I am your princess, and I am coming with you. Your orders are to end this war with me at your side. I suspect we’d make quite the team.”

“Are you?” he asked softly, reaching out to take her hand.

“Am I what?” she asked, confused but enjoying the feel of his fingers twining with hers.

“My princess?”

“I am,” she said softly. “I am also coming with you.” He sighed heavily, dropping his chin to his chest and chuckling in defeat.

“Come along, then,” he said, stepping around her without letting go of her hand. “I suspect you’d make a great pirate.”

“Lead the way, mate,” she grinned, following him out of the captain’s quarters and above deck.

* * *

They did, of course, defeat both the Dark One and the Evil Queen, eventually helping to win the war, but that’s a story for a different time.


End file.
